On the House
by sasha1600
Summary: Tim gets more than he asked for on a stakeout at a coffee shop. Warning: references to spanking of adult. Don’t like? Don’t read!
1. Chapter 1

**On the House**

**Summary**: Tim gets more than he asked for on a stakeout at a coffee shop. **Warning**: references to spanking of adult. Don't like? Don't read!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them, I just play with them.

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A/N: This is part of my 'Lessons' series and builds on a larger plot arc. This one was inspired by a comment KlairI made about Further Investigation, pointing out an experience Tim hasn't had yet (I can't say more without spoiling the story) – my Muse decided to fix that!

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**Warning: this is part of a discipline series. If you have a problem with that, click on that 'back' button now. You've been warned.**

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'Comfy, Probie?'

McGee carefully kept his face neutral and reached for his coffee cup, using it to block his mouth while he mumbled into the microphone secured under his collar.

'Yeah, Tony. It's nice and warm and dry in here. How about you? Having fun yet?'

Tony's response was painfully loud through the earwig. To Tim's relief, the stream of expletives was soon cut off by Gibbs.

'Hey, DiNozzo! Shut up! People are starting to stare.'

'Just trying to maintain my cover, Boss. I'm supposed to be a homeless guy rooting through the dumpster in an alley behind a coffee shop. People _expect_ me to talk to myself!'

'Just keep it down, ok, Tony? I want to be able to hear what's going on, and I can't do that with you jamming up the radio complaining.'

'I'm not _complaining, _Boss. I just want to know why _McGeek_ gets to hang out in the coffee shop and I get the garbage detail, is all. I mean...'

'A writer writing in a coffee shop isn't going to tip O'Leary off that we're watching him, DiNozzo. You sitting there...'

'What, you don't think I can _pretend...'_

'Boss, heads-up!'

'...to write? Gimme a laptop...'

'Tony...'

'...and a cup of coffee and I can look as much like a writer hanging out in a coffee shop as McGee...'

'Stop talking, someone's heading towards McGee.'

'I mean, he isn't even _really_ writing in there. He doesn't write on a laptop...'

'Oh, I didn't order...'

'...so, he's just pretending. So why can't I...'

'...anything else, just the...'

'DiNozzo, _SHUT UP!_'

'coffee.'

Tony finally stopped babbling.

'You're, like, that writer, right? The one who wrote that book about the secret agents?'

'_Special_ agents, yeah...'

'Well, Tiffany and me...'

Tim followed her glance towards the other barista.

'...we think it's really cool that you're, like, writing... you know... like _here_ and everything, so we wanted you to have these... they're, like, the house specialty...'

Tim accepted the plate with a smile and a thank you. With a quick glance at the girl's nametag, he added a comment about possibly naming characters 'Erica' and 'Tiffany'. She giggled and blushed, finally retreating back to the coffee counter, where a line was starting to form. He could hear the high-pitched squeal when she relayed the news.

'What was that all about, McGee?'

'Just fans, I think, Boss. Brought me cookies.'

'_WHAT_???!!!'

'And they look really good, too, Tony. They're chocolate, and it looks like they've got...'

'McGee...'

Tim could hear the warning in Gibbs's growl but he couldn't help himself.

'nuts in them.'

There was a pause while he took a bite.

'Mmmmm. They _are_ good...' he mumbled, his mouth still full.

'Enough!'

Tim realised he'd pushed the teasing as far as he dared, and broke off the commentary. Instead, he chewed in silence, trying to place the unusual flavour that wasn't quite overpowered by the cocoa and walnuts. He took a sip from his coffee, swirling it in his mouth in an attempt to cleanse his palate, then took another bite of the cookie.

_Nope, still can't identify it,_ he thought. _But they're really good..._


	2. Chapter 2

Time usually seemed to crawl on stakeouts, but ensconced in a comfy booth, typing out observations about the patrons of the coffee bar, mainly as possible evidence but, in the back of his mind, thinking that some of the descriptions might be useful for his next novel as well, Tim found himself surprised by how much time had already passed.

The arms-dealing marine corporal they were waiting for was apparently late, and they had no way of knowing if his intended customer had arrived or not.

An inconspicuous web-cam was trained on the door, recording everyone who entered, and Gibbs was taking more photos from the car outside, capturing everyone who walked by as well. Tony was still grumbling as he rooted through the trash out back, keeping an eye on the only other door. It was his loud protest about the first drops of rain that had jarred Tim out of his reverie.

Glancing around quickly to make sure he wasn't being watched, he carefully poured the contents of his cup into a large potted plant next to the seat he'd chosen for that reason. He needed to order another coffee to maintain his cover, but he didn't dare actually _drink_ that much, since he knew he couldn't leave his post to run to the men's room. A wave in the direction of the counter, a gesture with the empty cup, and an 'ok' sign from Erica took care of the charade.

The cookies on the table seemed to be calling him. He'd planned to keep some for Tony and Gibbs, thinking as much about his waist-line as about the grief he'd get from Tony if he didn't. But they were really good, and he was inexplicably hungry, despite having eaten a couple of them already.

As he watched Erica getting his coffee ready, he decided that he deserved some compensation for having to sit there, surrounded by the odours of caffeine and sugar, unable to enjoy his drink.

His mind made up, he reached for another cookie.


	3. Chapter 3

'Still nothing here. DiNozzo?'

'Nothing, Boss. Other than one massive raccoon that clearly thinks I'm invading its territory back here. If I get rabies from this thing, I'm...'

'McGee? Report!'

'Huh? Oh! Just great, Boss. I'm actually making progress, for the first time in ages! I don't know why I was so hung up on the _plot_... what I really need is to make the reader _feel_ the _emotions_ of my characters...'

'Anything about the _case_, McGee?'

There was a pause, as if Tim was trying to figure out the question.

'The case?'

'You know, real life, Probie?'

'But... my book _is_ real life, Tony. Or, real life is just fiction. It's all just an illusion, so what difference is there? Does it matter that one story is told through paper, and one through flesh and blood? I know Marshall McLuhan said that 'the medium is the message', but it's the _message_ that matt...'

'MCGEE!'


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs finished securing Corporal O'Leary, making sure that the cuffs were snug around his wrists. He didn't like Marines who stole weapons from their base and sold them on the black market. And in his book, selling them to home-grown white supremacist nuts was as bad as selling them to foreign terrorists.

A quick glance at Tony confirmed that he had the two nuts in question under control, and was marching both of them towards the door and the waiting cars. Gibbs used a rough hand between the shoulder blades to propel O'Leary after them.

It was only then, the situation under control and the risk of one of their suspects taking a hostage safely averted, that he had time to wonder where the hell McGee was, when he was supposed to be covering one of the two would-be buyers that DiNozzo was currently dealing with on his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the two college-girl coffee shop attendants trying to sneak out the back door, now that Tony was no longer blocking that exit. _What the hell?_ he thought.

But he quickly dismissed the girls from his mind, his eyes coming to rest on his youngest agent, sitting tucked up in the corner of a booth, his legs drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees.

Giggling.


	5. Chapter 5

Tim swam blearily towards consciousness, resisting opening his eyes. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to burn through his eyelids. His head was killing him, and he just couldn't face the glare of full daylight.

He'd just lie here, he decided, until the sun went away again.

He wasn't sure how much later it was that he realized that the bed he was lying in felt too firm, and the blanket under his arm was not the patchwork quilt his grandmother had made for him.

He opened his eyes slowly, groaning as the sun assaulted his retinas, and glanced around.

His fears that he'd wake up in a hospital for the second time in as many months were quickly relieved. But as he took in the plain wood furniture and unremarkable off-white walls, he felt a growing unease.

He turned his head, seeking out the clock that he expected to find on the bedside table. Instead, he found only a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin waiting for him.

He struggled to sit up, and realised to his combined relief and dismay that a large plastic wastepaper basket had been placed on the floor next to the bed, and a braided rug that clearly belonged there had been folded in half and slid under the nearby chest of drawers.

A few deep breaths managed to get his stomach under control, but he couldn't suppress a groan as he reached for the aspirin.

The last thing he remembered was sitting in the coffee shop, finishing a plate of cookies while he waited for an arms deal to go down, actually making progress on his novel for the first time in weeks.

He didn't remember having a drink, much less getting drunk.

So how the hell did he end up waking up hung-over in his boss's spare room?


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Tim woke up, the pounding in his head wasn't as strong. Carefully opening his eyes, he was relieved to find that the room wasn't spinning this time, either, and his stomach seemed willing to stay in one place. Maybe.

'How are you feeling?'

Tim turned his head towards the voice, finding his boss standing in the doorway, watching him with an unreadable expression.

He briefly considered replying that he was fine, not wanting to admit the full extent of his apparent stupidity. But he still remembered all too clearly how Gibbs had responded the last time he had lied to him, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

And he figured he was in enough trouble already.

'Not so great,' he mumbled.

He was a bit surprised to see Gibbs grin as he crossed the room and sat down near the foot of the bed.

'Ducky says you'll be fine. He'll be by soon to check on you. How many of those things did you eat, anyway?'

'Whuh?' Tim asked, thoroughly confused.

'The _cookies_, Tim.'

'Huh? I don't know. Quite a few, I guess.' Seeing the raised eyebrow, he continued, 'They were good. And for some reason I was suddenly starving, and...'

'Yeah, marijuana will do that to you.'

'Mari... whuh?'

Gibbs actually chuckled.

'You ate a plateful of _pot cookies_, Tim. Didn't you notice there was something 'hinky' about them?'

Tim tried to sit upright, but the sudden movement made his head spin and he flopped back against the pillows.

'Not _that_ hinky! I mean, there was a flavour... a spice or something... in them that I couldn't identify...'

'Yeah, that would be the _pot_!'

'...but I didn't think... I mean... they were just cookies!'

'What I don't understand, is how you managed to get _that_ stoned, without _feeling_ that something was wrong.'

Tim flushed.

'Uh... I... uh... I was... I mean... when I... uh... sometimes when I write... I... uh...'

'Do you mean to tell me that you didn't notice that you were stoned, because you thought you were just goofing off when you were supposed to be working?'

Tim blinked. Then, stomach churning, he realised that he was probably in even more trouble, now. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times, before swallowing hard and deciding that he really needed to ask his boss to postpone his inevitable punishment.

'Uh, Boss? Do you think you could, ummm, wait... a bit? Before you... uh... you know? It's just that... right now... I think I'll probably throw up, if... uh...you....'

Gibbs looked stunned for a moment, before grinning slightly, his hand twitching as if he was holding back from head-slapping him only with great effort.

'Tim, I'm not going to spank you because you got drugged without your knowledge.'

'You're not?'

'No. I think you need to pay more attention to your body's reactions, and notice that there's something wrong before it goes so far. But I suspect that the way you feel right now is probably all you need to learn that lesson.'

Tim nodded vigorously, immediately regretting it. He leaned his head back with a groan.

'What happened yesterday wasn't your fault, Tim. You didn't do anything I need to punish you for.' There was a pause before Gibbs continued, 'Although, DiNozzo is pissed that you didn't save any of those cookies for him. I should probably thank you for that... the last thing I need is _both_ of you on drugs.'

Tim smiled weakly. Gibbs got to his feet and gently tousled his hair.

'Ok. You should be feeling better soon, you just need to get it completely out of your system. Just rest, Tim. And drink that.' Gibbs nodded towards the can of ginger ale, already open and equipped with a straw, that had been placed on the bedside table while he was sleeping. Just the thought of it made him feel a bit queasy. His face must have shown his reluctance, because Gibbs continued, 'You need the fluids, and the calories. If it stays down, I'll bring you some soup in a bit.'

Tim reached uncertainly for the soda and watched his boss heading for the door.

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

'Jethro!' he exclaimed.

Gibbs turned in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. Tim sputtered slightly, realising how his outburst must have sounded.

'He's been alone since yesterday morning!' he explained, trying to get out of bed, willing his body to co-operate. 'I've got to get home...'

'Relax, Tim. He spent the night in my kitchen. Right now he's asleep in the backyard. I'm surprised you didn't hear the commotion about an hour ago, when the neighbour's cat wandered through the hedge.'

Tim relaxed and sank back against the pillows, relieved that both his dog and his floors were safe.

'Thanks, Boss.'

'Thank DiNozzo. He had to pick up the dog, since I couldn't very well let him in the car with you. He'd go berserk, smelling those damn cookies on your hands.'

Tim groaned, imagining the scene. He never would have thought having a retired Navy drug dog as a pet would be a problem.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. Slightly horrified, he asked, 'Boss... Tony's not... I mean... I didn't do anything too embarrassing... did I?'

'Nah. You were just rambling about psychic marshals.'

_Psychic marshals? What the hell?_

Watching Gibbs once more turning to leave, Tim wondered where on Earth his drug-addled mind had pulled _that_ from. And what Tony would do with it.


End file.
